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I did not even own the camisk, the scandalous bit of cloth that had been granted me to cover my nakedness, and might be, at a word, taken from me. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter 12, Sentence #380)

I was Elinor Brinton, wealthy, beautiful, refined, civilized, but by some mysterious incomprehensible set of events here, in this place, here, with a mark in my left thigh! I moaned, inwardly. Here I was not wealthy. Here I owned nothing. I did not even own the camisk, the scandalous bit of cloth that had been granted me to cover my nakedness, and might be, at a word, taken from me. And I had doubtless been granted it primarily that I might be the more provocatively exhibited, and that it might provide an incentive to masters to remove it from me, and doubtless bind me for their pleasure with its very belting! No, it was I, rather, who was owned. And here I was not refined, I realized, certainly not from the point of view of this world. I did not know its subtleties and customs, its etiquette, anything. - (Captive of Gor)